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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286229">Murdock v. Murdock</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway'>Upupanyway</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M, Shenanigans, Sibling Bonding, brotherly competition, i don't know how to tag this one, mike works for nelson and murdock, murdocks vying for foggy's attention</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:34:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt makes the ill-advised executive decision to let Mike work for the esteemed offices of Nelson &amp; Murdock. Hijinks ensue.</p><p>(Something silly for the quarantine)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt Murdock &amp; Mike Murdock, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Mike Murdock &amp; Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Mike Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What's this? another comedic romp? I flip flop between wanting to write semi-poignant serious things, horny-sweet things, and rated T and under friendship romps that are literally just silliness. Whatever, man. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The thing about running an honest-to-God business is that there are, as a rule, a lot of banalities to wade through. There are forms, there's the delegation of tasks, and there are mountains upon mountains of meetings. It's more than a headache and a half, but being that the office is still quite small, and that his partner is more often out of the office than not, it usually falls on Foggy Nelson to handle the trivialities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so, with a beleaguered sigh, he knocks on the door. It's a day like many others, oppressive and suffocating in its late winter chill. Foggy Nelson does not wait for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Murdock?" Foggy says. "It's time for your yearly review."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh?" Mike smiles, lifting his fingers delicately from the keyboard. "Has it been a year already?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy sighs. "Yeah, I guess it has." He takes the seat on the other side of the lavish wooden bureau and opens up a folder on his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Firstly, you're still not authorized to use this office space. It does still belong to Hannah from accounting, seeing as how she's the head of her department and you're an administrative assistant, so let's start there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's fine with it," Mike dismisses with a smug grin. Foggy is suddenly very tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She most definitely is not. I don't know what you have over her, but in order to get everything running smoothly, I suggest you take up your cubicle in the open office area."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike pouts. "No, thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy runs his hand through his hair. "What are you using to blackmail her?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, it would lose its mystique if I were to flat out tell you, wouldn't it?."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't keep doing this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's worked out for me so far," shrugs Mike, leaning back to rest his oxfords on Hannah's beautiful desk. "And you haven't fired me yet," he points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because Matt, your flesh and blood brother and partner to this firm, is adamant that we rehabilitate you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike hums and twirls one of Hannah's expensive pens between his fingers. "Best of luck to him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy sighs. "Second order of business, you've owed us a new printer for three weeks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike waves his hand limply in the air. "Dock it from my pay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We would, but you've been here, which means Hannah doesn't have access to the forms she needs physically signed in order to authorize that. And she can't print new forms because our printer is broken."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing dramatically, Mike takes off his sunglasses. "Fogster, buddy. Look, we both know why you're here," he says suggestively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm here to tell you that we would like to reduce your pay as a punitive measure </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that would technically be illegal according to federal labour laws. Clearly, whoever posited that all workers deserve a living wage had not met you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'm here to tell you I've got two working eyes enough to know that you need to get laid." He grins, Cheshire and lascivious. Foggy wants dearly to punch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Michael."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Franklin."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it were up to me, you'd have been fired ages ago."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And if it were up to me, you'd have realized that I'm an asset."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy laughs, cruelly, once. "You've been horrendous for our productivity. It took you five weeks to put in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reminder</span>
  </em>
  <span> to contact a client's credit card company."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet, here I am, fancy corner office and everything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not your office!" Foggy reminds him, standing up from the force of his rage. "I want to evacuate you from Hannah's office, and I want the printer replaced, and I want you to start taking yourself seriously! What are we paying you for? Paper clip jewelry and stamp art?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fogs," says Mike, almost looking affected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have one week to take my notes seriously, or I don't care that Matt wants you here. You're fired."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy storms out, closing Hannah's door softly so as not to damage it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Matt whistles appreciatively at the changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what you said to him, but looks like something got through to him," he comments, pacing the length of Foggy's office slowly as Mike sets up his desk outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I threatened to fire him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops. "You know we can't do that, Foggy. We gotta keep him occupied where we can actually keep track of him. You want him to go to work for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fisk</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Lord forbid!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course not! I wasn't actually going to fire him. I just wanted to get him to straighten up a bit," Foggy says, rubbing his face to stave off the signature headache he gets when a Murdock gets involved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A comfortable beat passes by them and Matt takes his seat across from Foggy, a heady oak wood desk and piles of paper between them. They sit in comfortable silence for one blissful second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He did offer to get me laid, though," Foggy says offhandedly. "Like this is some romcom or something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt, stoic in his seat, goes rigid. "Was he going to sleep with you to stay here? Because I'd say that's a few ratings above a standard romcom," he says, twinged with a sourness that means he's upset about something but isn't willing to talk about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't even know anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs a little tightly. "Well, I can trust you, can't I? You wouldn't..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course not! I'm a professional, last I checked," he says, indignant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt crosses his arms and leans forward, facing Foggy openly. "I know it's not ideal, but it's just until we can find something legitimate for him. Something unrelated to villainy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something morally upright that'll take him. I get it." Foggy nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," Matt says again. Those words are rote coming from him. He sighs and leans back some more. He's never looking at Foggy, not really, but Matt seems wistful, head turned to the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know," he says at last. "I have no memories of him growing up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because he didn't exist until we were forty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. It's just, he remembers me. He came with a life fully built into him. He remembers the day I got accepted into Columbia. He was there when the truck hit. He remembers dad's funeral. He knows the dates, he can even tell you what the weather was like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I may not have a brother, but he does. And I owe it to him to look out for him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a worn corner of Foggy's desk that Matt has accidentally bumped into countless times crossing it to invade Foggy's personal space for whatever reason. They had established that their offices were their own spaces, and that they weren't meant to get too familiar. It had started because Matt had to keep his belongings organized, lest he sign a form with red ink instead of black, and Foggy was more than willing to let his system be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has always been more forgiving of Matt than vice versa, though, and he keeps letting Matt push right up to his boundaries and overstep them. It's a bad habit that both men indulge in far too frequently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy stares at the corner, and resolves, not for the first time, to get it repolished. He sighs and indulges Matt once more. "Yeah, yeah. I understand. Just keep him in check, alright? I am trying to run a firm here, and he keeps scaring off the new recruits."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt smiles gratefully and nods before standing up. "Thanks, Fogs. I can always count on you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy deflates in his seat and draws some angry faces on his meeting notes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hinges to Foggy's office door are loose from overuse. They rattle as they open and close. He's been meaning to get them replaced, lest they fall off entirely. Without any regard for this, Mike lets himself in, nearly tearing the door from its bolts at 6pm on an unspectacular Friday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me take you to dinner, Fogster!" he says theatrically, spinning airily into the seat opposite Foggy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not looking up, Foggy says, "Can't. Too busy," and leaves it at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Undeterred, Mike rounds the desk and spins Foggy's chair around, pinning Foggy's shoulders so that he can't escape the Murdock gaze. He kneels down, and feverishly, it feels like Mike might be proposing to him.  Foggy looks down at him, scrutinizing those eerily familiar features before he tries to look away from the intensity of eye contact, but Mike chases his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike and Matt are identical twins, but there are subtle differences. They wear their hair differently, for one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Further than that, though, Mike is far less scarred. He is not the twin suffering chemical-induced blindness, after all. Mike has a straighter nose which has never been broken. Their presences are totally different, too. While Matt is reserved and introverted, Mike is obnoxious and craves attention. This bleeds into their appearances, as if the same features have arranged themselves on differently textured canvases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike's dimples are slightly deeper than Matt's are, and the curve of their hopeful smiles are at slightly off angles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Foggy, please. I've been a true scoundrel. Let me make it up to you. I know," he starts, then he softens to something wholly unknown to Foggy. "I know I've been petulant. It's just been sorta embarrassing, you know? My twin brother's my boss. You really can't imagine what that's like for me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Matt was Mike, he would wear gaudy shades, both to be flashy and to hide his identity. Mike, who works at an office despite it all, does not wear shades indoors. He wears clashing patterns and bolo ties, but his pale blue eyes are plain to see, and they're genuine as far as Foggy can tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Defeated, Foggy sets his pen down. "Let me get my coat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're sitting across from each other in an intimate booth at an upscale French place. The waitress lights a candle for them, and Foggy whistles at the grandeur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's no way you can afford a place like this," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike laughs, and even Foggy has to admit it's a nice one. "No, you're entirely right. But I seduced one of the line cooks back in the day. I reduced productivity so much that the chef was ecstatic when I told him I'm getting engaged. Have your fill, Foggy-bear. We're eating for free."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy smiles, too. Perhaps Mike truly is turning over a new leaf. "Congratulations, I suppose. I didn't know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike shakes his head gingerly, as if breaking obvious news to a toddler. "No, we're getting engaged. I told them I'm bringing you here to ask for your hand."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, yes. An antic. Of course it's another fucking antic. There are three things unavoidable in Foggy's life: taxes, court delays, and Murdock antics. He should have known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do I have to agree?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd like it if you did. That ring was worth three dollars at the thrift store. But if you refuse, we might be able to squeeze out another engagement visit here before they catch on."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy nods solemnly. "That's a compelling point, Murdock. I'll consider it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food is delicious enough that the company is tolerable. They're given the prix fixe menu and it's several hundred dollars too much not to appreciate. During the second course of ten, the chef herself walks right up to Foggy and hugs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know who you are," she says gravely, "but thank you so much for your service."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the sixth course, even Foggy has to admit he's feeling a little full, and he realizes that he's been stealing food off of Mike's plate, and that Mike is now just </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching</span>
  </em>
  <span> him eat. He's used to being observed, but most of his intimate outings are with Matt, who chats through the stench of whatever meal Foggy has in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike, honest to God, watches and smiles at him, as if he's just enjoying Foggy's presence. It skeeves him out, but Mike is making an effort to be friendly, and Foggy figures he should, too. If that means suffering a ridiculous lovelorn gaze, so be it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he reaches across the table and holds onto Mike's hand while he picks off more of his plate. He watches as Mike quirks a brow and laces their fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A waiter comes by to refill their wine and another comes out with course seven, which is colorful and delicate and Foggy hasn't the faintest hope to pronounce it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike takes a bite and hums appreciatively. Then, he makes a bite and holds it out for Foggy, a daring glint in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have to try this, doll."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have my own plate, Michael."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Foggy takes the offered fork and bites down, trapping it in his mouth so that Mike has to wrestle it out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects to be chastised, but instead, Mike laughs, genuine and bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn’t know you were such a fighter,” he says, setting down his spoon. He looks up, almost demurely, at Foggy. “I’d have done this a lot sooner if I’d known you were feisty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could say something about it. He could be snippy. “Do people not think I’m feisty?” he asks instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike smiles at him. He doesn’t know how much of it is an act, but he thinks that it gets a little more genuine every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for that. It was fun,” Foggy says when they part ways. Mike had walked him to his door, though it was on the way to his shabby studio a couple blocks over, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Fogs. You’re pretty fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Foggy says, hopping up the first step of his stoop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not gonna say it back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he laughs, reaching over to tug Mike by the nose. “You have to earn it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me back the ring,” he protests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy lets go, still laughing as he takes off the gaudy piece of costume jewelry with a giant acrylic gemstone. “I hardly think that’s grounds for a divorce.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need it so I can treat you next time,” Mike says. He pockets the ring and shuffles a little on his feet. “And we will do this again, sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many restaurants have you terrorized?” Foggy asks with dawning horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t tell you the number, but I got as far as Brooklyn, and I’ve been working my way east.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re horrid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike smiles some more, lifting his bright pink shades from their resting place in his breast pocket. He puts them on and looks at Foggy for a long while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he pulls Foggy down by the tie and gives him a peck on the cheek. It’s very European, and Foggy doesn’t even have the will to wipe it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you on Monday.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Foggy settles into his couch and waits a whopping thirty seconds before he decides to call Matt. He had been torn between the desperate need to say something and the knowledge that knowing Matt, he’s probably off being a vigilante enough not to pick up. Still, he needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know about what he’d just done. It feels worse than sinful, though not quite like a betrayal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? Foggy?” calls Matt through the phone. By the sound of it, there are people being punched. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess who just proposed,” Foggy teases, just to ruck up some chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m three seconds away from a breakthrough.” There’s a sound of movement, and some blunt object meeting a bone. “And there it was. Alright, what is it? Who proposed? Is Kirsten finally getting hitched with that Austin guy? Because as much as I would love to get her a gag gift, I don’t think she’d appreciate anything I could come up with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bernice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me, Fogs! We’ll head down for engagement gifts later. I’m busy right now!” he whines, and some unlucky villain groans at some impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Mike. Michael Murdock. Who’d have thunk, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. A delicious pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To whom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pause. A sickening crunch that Foggy doesn’t want to know the source of. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had dinner. He took me to that French place by the gardens. Really elegant, tasteful music. Took out a ring at the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what did you say?” he urges, agitation clear through the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said yes, of course. You don’t refuse a proposal like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy, what the f-” Foggy hangs up and counts to three, letting the phone ring away as he fetches himself a beer and turns on the television.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fourteen minutes later, Daredevil comes barrelling through Foggy’s open window, trailing mud on his well-vacuumed carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy,” he says, chest heaving from exertion. “Tell me it was just a really miscalculated joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. Mike proposed and I said yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt tilts his head. It’s one of those idiosyncrasies he has and Foggy knows he’s listening to something strange, like the blood in his veins or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re not lying,” he says, ripping off his cowl and throwing it to the floor. It’s another tantrum building and Foggy tries to savour it. Dramatically, Matt puts his hands on his hips as if to lecture a child and walks to where Foggy’s seated with his feet on an ottoman. “You’re not thinking of doing something ill-advised like actually marrying Mike, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy hums towards his muted screen where he has the subtitles on, so Matt can’t tell he’s watching cartoon romance. When Matt continues to loom, Foggy shrinks before he finally fesses up. “Of course not! What do you think I am? He took me out and we got served for free because we pretended to be getting engaged. Just some classic shenanigans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt removes Foggy’s feet from the ottoman and sits down on it. He leans forward severely, and Foggy watches as sweat trickles down his cheek. “You told me you didn’t want to be involved in shenanigans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, his shenanigans are less likely to get me stabbed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt takes his hand and rubs it gently with a gloved thumb. “Is that what this is? You’ve decided which twin you prefer?” he asks softly, looking smaller than a six foot, broad-shouldered man ought to. “Are you breaking up with me?” He pouts for three whole seconds, and Foggy rolls his eyes at the performative upset. He wrestles out of his grip and kicks him lightly in the chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you dolt. I just wanted to let you know that I’m trying with your brother. I know you care about him, despite everything. I want you to know that I care that you care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt continues to pout as he takes off his gloves and starts stripping from his costume. “Well, if that’s all it is, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to give me a heart attack about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy gets up to fetch Matt some clothes from the spare drawer in his room. “And how else would I get you to stop fighting on a Friday night? If I didn’t stop it now, I’d be stitching you up in three hours anyway. Some requiem, I beg of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt gapes for a glorious second, which Foggy takes to throw some soft clothes at him. They're about the same width in the shoulders, but Matt is a few pant sizes smaller. He buys lots of sweats with elastic waists. "Okay," he says finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good. Now get comfy because we're watching Lady and the Tramp."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The following Monday is suspiciously calm all morning. Foggy has enough time to befriend a pigeon at his window by feeding it some granola, and he wills himself to carry that sweet moment with him for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It lasts until precisely noon, when he catches Mike in the lounge, drinking coffee and reading something on his phone. It catches him off-kilter because he looks almost normal. There is no smirk in his face, no dramatic tilt of his shoulders, no quirk of his brows. Just a thin man in his early forties scrolling through his phone. He perks up when he catches Foggy looking, though, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikeness</span>
  </em>
  <span> spreads across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fogster!" He greets, grabbing his cup and heading over to the microwave where Foggy had been heating his leftovers. "How are you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"About the same as always. And you?" he asks, forcing himself to be cordial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. "You know. I'm somehow making minimum wage at a law firm, but I'm holding together," he shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy knows the labour laws, but he also knows about ethics. When Mike was, in his mind, a conceptual non-entity, it had seemed fine to continue to dock his pay. It's been over a year, though, and it doesn't seem like whatever magic it was that brought him into this world is gonna take him out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Speaking of," Foggy starts. "We can start paying you a decent salary. As great as Friday was, I can't imagine seduction for food is entirely sustainable or strictly legal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I-" Mike starts with his usual gravitas, but he falters and shakes his head. "Thank you,” he says more genuinely. “I'll do my best to be a legitimate employee."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I'll help spruce up your resume, if you'd like. I know you probably don't want to be stuck here for the rest of your life."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One thing at a time, Foggy," he says gently. "I don't know what I’d do if you started being nice to me all of a sudden. I'm still your worst employee."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy leans his hip on the counter and turns to Mike, who smiles shyly back at him. "Look, maybe I wasn't all that fair to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I pulled a gun on you, Foggy. I'd hardly say you were at fault for any animosity between us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, Mike looks tender again, and it's wholly strange. It's jarring to be reminded of a time when Mike was fresh out the aether and more rambunctious, less weathered and matured by the quiet 9-to-5 lifestyle. He isn't particularly well-mannered now, but he's definitely more contained. Foggy hasn't caught wind of his gun in a long while, so he figures it's an improvement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he squinted, he could almost picture him as Matt, twenty some-odd years ago, feral and cold. He had needed some shelter, then. Perhaps Mike is in a similar boat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, nonsensically, Mike's hand is reaching out for him, though Foggy has no idea where it intended to land because the microwave starts beeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What have you got for lunch?" he asks instead, reaching for his coffee cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just some leftover curry. What are you eating?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike doesn't say anything and takes a long sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah." The realization dawns quickly. "Do you want to share?" he asks slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike shrugs. "You don't have to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But I will," Foggy says, resigned. "You Murdocks are all the same. Someone offers you some kindness and you get all squirrelly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be. Lord knows I should probably be eating less for my cardiovascular health anyway. I'll take some snacks from the company stash if I get peckish. I suggest you do, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike smiles and picks a pair of metal spoons from the drawer, handing one gingerly to Foggy. "Will do, Mr. Nelson, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has been years since Foggy has gone to a thrift store. It's been a long while since he's bought clothes of any kind, but there's something so stressful and time consuming about sifting through racks and hoping that the slacks labelled XL are actually the XL he hopes them to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's cried in a change room getting stuck in a zipper, and since then, he's stuck to department stores where people are there to tell him what to buy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike hums happily as he skips through the aisles, looking triumphant that he'd been able to rope Foggy into this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You have to try this," he says, holding up a wide brimmed fedora.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not my style," Foggy says, taking it and placing it on his head anyway. "I look like my aunt Marjorie on Sunday mornings. And we're only here for a shirt. But spilled curry probably doesn't stain that bad."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I dunno, the shirt looks pretty donezo to me," Mike says, picking some bell bottom leather pants on the rack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy takes off the hat and places it on Mike's head. "Sure, buddy. But we're here shopping for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike holds out some magenta-and-yellow jogger pants in Foggy's size. "We'll see about that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk out laughing, bags upon bags of strange pieces between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is this what you do with your paycheck?" Foggy asks, straightening out Mike's new blazer, which is a horrid little puke-green paisley number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If I have some to spare, yeah," he says, batting Foggy's hands away to fix his necktie askew and undo a button from his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike shrugs. "When we were kids, I just wanted to differentiate myself from Matt. Nowadays, I think I just like the attention."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy frowns at him, trying to figure out why that hurts to hear. "Hey, maybe you just have a particular fashion sense that can't be accessed with contemporary tastes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike beams at him. "Or I just adore the feeling of wearing dead people's clothes," he agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you look fetching," Foggy says. He looks up at the sky, now ripe with darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's getting pretty late," Mike notes. "I should probably leave you to enjoy your night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Or," Foggy says deliberately, hitching up his bags, "we could get dinner? I think I still owe you one. There's this Greek place around here I think you'll enjoy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, all pretense drops from Mike's face and he looks genuinely shocked. Then it settles back into his smug smile, though it looks more affected now than anything. "Lead the way, boss."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a day later, Foggy actually brings some of his thrifted clothes for dry cleaning. He had lucked out with some wool jackets and a few nice ties he wants to take proper care of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, these are nice," Cathy, the manager at the dry cleaning place, remarks. She runs her fingers over the lapels. "A little out there for your usual wardrobe, though. Have you been influenced?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy shrugs, handing over a few bills from his wallet. He waves away the change. "I guess. A, uh, friend was trying to get me out of my comfort zone." He gets the word out, and instantly, he realizes it's true. They're friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm glad you've found someone," she says pleasantly, leaning on the counter to look at him with doe eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches on and sputters. "No, not like that! A genuine friend. Just a friend."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All right, Mr. Foggy." She winks as she disappears behind some curtains and he can tell she doesn't believe him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, well," he grumbles to himself. "You can't clear up every misunderstanding."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to walk out of the dry cleaner's and breathes in the cheery day. Everything's going pretty well, all things considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes!" Mike shrieks when Foggy walks in on a regular Thursday. He clamors over to Foggy and immediately smiles like a clumsy puppy. A moment passes by and they both breathe at the exact same moment to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy gets to it first. “Not a word, Murdock,” he says sternly, pushing down Mike’s wiggling fingers, though it more or less just ends with them holding hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrestles out of Foggy’s grip to press his hands down on his suit jacket, though. “I can’t believe you’re actually wearing it.” His fingers shift to the tie, a true pièce de résistance, which features a loud orange and pink pattern. “I picked this one out, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did, but you should get your hands off of me before you start an office rumour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t mind that much, would you, Foggy-bear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope!” Foggy says sternly, stepping out of the interaction and brushing himself off. “You, of all people, don’t get to call me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," Mike says, looking stricken. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Foggy!" Matt yells from his office, and Foggy jumps. "Get in here, now!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike rolls his eyes and squares his shoulders. "Your partner awaits."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't," Foggy warns again before high-tailing to Matt's office, where he closes the door softly behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Care to tell me when the pet-names started?" Matt asks testily. Foggy turns the light on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People think Murdock is the more intimidating of the two, but really, he just works in the dark and has a broody demeanor. Foggy has had nearly two decades to figure the man out, and he's quite simple at the heart of him. He likes what he likes and is territorial to a fault. If he's upset, he feels encroached upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's always been there with the pet names," Foggy says patiently, taking a seat across from Matt and folding his hands on his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's getting handsy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yep." Foggy doesn't disagree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it doesn't bother you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Less than it used to," he admits to Matt's furrowed brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Since when were you friends, Foggy? Are you hanging out with him now?" He looks about ready to burst, so he decides to put him out of his misery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, Matt. I know you've been trying with him. I just want to support you in that effort. If I ever start liking him better, I will definitely let you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt frowns at him. "I mean, you definitely won't because you're too nice. But I'll keep it in mind. And don't let him touch you. He's dangerous."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet you're punching baddies by moonlight," he points out lightly. Matt gapes and when Foggy begins to stand and Matt mirrors him. "Look, I just want to make sure he's being taken care of. Same as you. It won't become more than that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It better not," Matt threatens. He walks around his desk to be beside Foggy and faces him expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't have to walk me to my office. It's fourteen steps away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I do. He could be lurking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's not lurking. You'd know if he was lurking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He could be," Matt says definitively. He holds the door open for Foggy and Foggy turns the light off on his way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're being dramatic," Foggy tells him when Matt clamps his hand down. He had only </span>
  <em>
    <span>waved</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Mike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm being sensible. What if he starts hitting on you? He doesn't have a great track record with that kind of thing." They're in Foggy's office now, and Matt closes the door behind him. "You know he slept with Hannah, right? She's still embarrassed about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But she did it willingly?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As far as I can discern. Apparently he took her out to a nice restaurant and one thing led to another."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dark realization dawns on Foggy. "Is that like a move of his?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think so."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright," Foggy says, and resolves not to say anything more. "I'll keep a lookout."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Foggy, if there's something you're not telling me-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's not," he says with a note of authority that he hope's settles the matter. "Anyway, I have a lot of work to do, so I better-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, yeah. Yeah. Sounds good," Matt agrees, though he doesn't look happy about it. With a displeased huff, he strides out of Foggy's office and a silence follows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Foggy takes a seat and starts to actually work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Matt walks in with a bouquet of flowers, sneezing every thirty seconds or so. Almost angrily, he places it on Foggy's desk and taps his fingers as if he's the one waiting for an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Foggy asks, finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Care to explain why Mike is bringing you flowers?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy stares for a moment between the flowers and Matt, who sneezes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You realize the only one who's given me flowers is you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I intercepted it! He was walking in here with a spring in his step, and when I asked about it, he said he wanted to follow up to that </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> you shared."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt crosses his arms and Foggy shrinks a little. "Okay, technically there was a kiss, but I wasn't an </span>
  <em>
    <span>active</span>
  </em>
  <span> participant or anything. It was weeks ago and it hasn't happened since."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't believe you'd do this to me. We were best friends."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't do anything," Foggy says, genuinely starting to get irritated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it better stay that way!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt storms out of the office and slams the door behind him, and Foggy is left at his desk, confused and more than slightly put off. It's not like Foggy understands what's going on any more than Matt does. He leaves the flowers by the window, but not before he notices a note in the bouquet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Love, MM</span>
  </em>
  <span>," it reads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It has to register for a second what the words mean, because suddenly it's like he can't read. Then, he rips up the note, pretending never to have seen it. Plausible deniability can go a long way, he figures. He takes a seat at his desk again, trying desperately to focus on his work.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there's a section that's a little dub-con but nothing happens sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He notices the small changes before the big ones. It feels as if the whole office dynamic has shifted. Matt and Mike had never really talked during work hours; whatever heartfelt brotherly conversations happened, they happened resolutely on their own time. Now, they seem to talk even less, and the sheen of disdain for the other looms thicker than it had before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that's not quite right. The disdain only grew on Matt's side. Mike seemed ever chipper, almost clingy for Matt's attention, and Matt took even greater pains to avoid his brother, and he kept sneering when he thought Mike wasn't looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should talk to him about whatever this is," Foggy says, placing a warm burrito in front of Matt. It's the microwave kind, the kind that Matt only settles for when he's starving or brooding enough not to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you mean?" Matt asks around a mouthful of beans. He's relatively uninjured, but his vibrant hair is sticking up at odd ends from being in his mask, and the dried sweat all over him makes him look grimy. Monstrous. Foggy contemplates forcing him to shower, but they have more pressing matters at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mike."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What about him?" he says in a huff. He swallows and takes another hefty bite of the soggy tortilla mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's trying. You can't just leave him to his own devices now. He's starting to get all sad about it, and I don't have the patience for two broody Murdocks in the office."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you care?” Matt snaps, accusatory and mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a headache, Matt. Please stop the dramatics, it’s getting a little old."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt huffs and gets up to wash the dish, but not before making an aborted gesture with his hand towards Foggy. It’s a little weird, but Foggy thinks better about bringing it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And take a shower, Matt!" he calls after him, but he already catches a glimpse of Matt taking an armful of Foggy's clothes into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an office party. It’s Lenny’s birthday, so they put out a cake and some balloons. Foggy wants nothing more than to slink off to a corner to let his employees enjoy the day. He has been under a lot of pressure lately, and he wants some peace and quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt doesn’t seem to want to let him, though. He keeps pulling Foggy in by the arm to the middle of the kitchenette, where the congregation has gathered most thickly. He wails with laughter at every comment Foggy makes and has an iron grip on Foggy’s arm, and it’s distracting, if anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Foggy is able to extricate himself, and he barricades himself in the bathroom for a breather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there's one heuristic that Foggy has found more reliable than not, it's that nothing ever goes to his plan. This time, it's because Mike, of all people, follows him inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, you," he says, handing something to Foggy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An immaculately rolled joint waits in his hands, and Foggy laughs. "What's this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An offer," Mike answers sheepishly. He holds out a lighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We're not supposed to be doing drugs at work," Foggy says, taking the lighter and heating the roll at its end before taking a small puff. He holds it in his lungs for a second before blowing it out onto Mike's face, which scrunches at the smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd hardly call it a working day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a workplace regardless, and everyone gets paid for today, so I'd beg to differ."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet here we are," Mike smirks, taking the joint from Foggy to partake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here we are," Foggy chuckles, leaning on the sink while Mike lowers the toilet seat to sit on top of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moments pass by, and smoke starts to fill the room, so Foggy turns on a fan. They smoke in silence for a minute or two or ten, before Mike coughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So what are you getting away from?" Mike asks at last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy sighs and puts the butt out with water, taking the time to wash his hands, too. The smell of it is dank on his hand, and while he knows Matt probably already knows, it always feels a little dirty. "I don't know. Matt's just been clingy recently. Not that I mind, but he only gets like that when something's wrong, but he's not telling me about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it bothers you that much? Enough that you want to get high about it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. No. I guess I just thought we were over it, but apparently not. I don't know how to get him to trust me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike laughs, and Foggy shrinks at what feels like his scrutiny. "I can help you solve it," he says coyly. "I can get him to talk."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy scoffs, mean and sloppy. "How?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kiss me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why?" Foggy asks, guards all the way up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just do it and you'll find out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Explain it to me," he demands, but Mike just eyes him and gets up from his seat. He crowds Foggy, and the edge of the sink starts to dig painfully at his lower back. "Mike stop," he says sternly, though Mike's nose starts to graze his cheek. "Mike, I don't want this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'll be quick," Mike whispers in his ear, his breath full of smoke. "My head's too swimmy to tell you now. He really won't tell you otherwise, because he's a dumbass. You'll get a kick out of it, I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Michael, don't do this," Foggy says one last time, trying to push him off to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens harshly. The lock flies out and clinks onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Foggy!" Matt calls, stomping into the bathroom and coughing at the air. "Get off of him now, Mike."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't see Matt angry often. Foggy knows it's a big part of him, but he makes it a point not to be too involved with violence of any kind, as much as his work allows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mike is on the floor with a satisfied smirk on the ground, Matt takes Foggy's hand and doesn't let go until they're three blocks away from the office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They're in a dingy, dark alley, and it's easy to see Matt belonging here. The light casts long and uneven shadows onto his skin, and his glasses light a maniacal red. He's not in the suit, but its motif has never seemed so apt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" he asks as he reaches out to touch Foggy. He must think better of it, though, because he crosses his arms as if to restrain himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah," answers Foggy, not quite sure if he's lying. "What just happened?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt frowns, taking a step forward before rocking backwards to lean on a wall. The life deflates out of him and he looks distressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mike just assaulted you, I think. I'm sorry. We really should have fired him ages ago. You were right."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not okay. Clearly, it's far from okay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been kidnapped on multiple occasions and I have been shot before, in case you've forgotten," Foggy says gently, leaning on the wall beside Matt. "A little intimate touching between co-workers is hardly the worst thing that's happened to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Matt says. It occurs to Foggy that it might have come across as a dig. It wasn't meant to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't be. I'm just having a little trouble forming thoughts right now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's okay. Do you need anything?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy laughs, because a thought enters his brain before he can stop it, and suddenly he's brought back to a time over fifteen years ago when they were young and dumb and carefree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Remember college?" he blurts out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Every second."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you remember when I got high one time and I thought the FBI wanted my socks?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs cautiously. Foggy knows that laugh intimately, like he knows how directly it can trigger his dopamine. He can practically draw a chart of his own body chemistry as it reacts to that laugh, as if their beings were some interconnected organ.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, of course," Matt says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do it like you did back then. Just sit this out with me, please."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy slumps onto the dirty ground and Matt follows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you hold my hand? I feel like my fingers are floating away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, Foggy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The office gossip dies down eventually. Mike does not get fired because Foggy, of all people, insists against it. Luckily for Foggy, Mike already has a reputation, so it doesn't besmirch his, and luckily for Mike, Foggy is very forgiving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't like you talking to him," Matt admits one day. It's after hours, and everyone had gone home for the day. It's just Matt and Foggy, partners at a small firm on the outskirts of Hell's Kitchen. Business owners doing a quarterly review, friends sharing dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's your brother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You were the one who insisted on keeping him around, keeping tabs on him," Foggy reminds him for the umpteenth time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And it's been a year and a half. If he hasn't been looking for other work, maybe there's a reason."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy hums and eats some of his panna cotta. "Ulterior motives? What are you suggesting?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt sighs, beleaguered, and deflates into his seat. The tips of his ears turn pink. "Well, to tell it plainly, I think he's trying to get in your pants."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy laughs. "And that's reason enough to fire him? Look, just because he wants something, doesn't mean he's gonna get it. And besides, he's been doing better this quarter. No major incidents, and he's actually participating in the committee projects we're assigning him. He's on the cusp of a breakthrough, I can feel it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He assaulted you a month ago."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We were high! Things happen. I'm not saying it's great, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>we've</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissed while high," Foggy reminds him. They had laughed about it afterwards, and while it stung at the time, it didn't change them. "It doesn't have to mean anything!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt's face falls, clearly wanting to say something. "He convinced you to partake during work hours. You're more reckless when you're around him. He's not good for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, maybe it's nothing, and maybe it's something. But at the end of the day, we've promised to take care of him, and we're going to see that project through. I know you're not a fan of it, but Mike and I are friends now. You have to come to grips with that reality."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt frowns. "I know I can't control you, Fogs, but as a friend, I think you should just be careful about him, is all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thoroughly noted. Can we finally move on to all the extra expenses that have been pulled from your account? What did you need that was $1211.43?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shrugs sheepishly, finally distracted from the Mike talk. "Look, you weren't there, but this carpet was phenomenal for the price."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And that's a business expense how?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shrinks a little more. "If my feet aren't cold in the mornings, I might come in more alert and work better?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm. I thought you'd come up with something better than that. Aren't you a lawyer or something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have sensitive feet!" Matt says unconvincingly. "I'll pay for it. I used the wrong card. I haven't filled out the paperwork yet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy groans, highlighting the expense and writing a note in the statement. "A Murdock, through and through," he mumbles to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets home that night, he finds a surprise on his coffee table. It's an array of chocolates and pastries, neatly labeled for him to enjoy, and some of the stuff seems artisan, custom-made (it would have to be, because he doesn't know many places that sell chocolate-covered cheese puffs commercially). There's a single, plain note in the center, typed in a tasteful sans serif on thick, textured paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know it's been a tough couple of weeks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-Matt"</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he reaches for his phone and dials a number. Before he hears a breath, Foggy is already yelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"New carpet my ass! When the hell did you have time for all this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't want to ruin the surprise," Matt defends lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been with you all day. When did all of this happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got Sam to stop by during his lunch. I tipped him, though, don't worry. Do you not like it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You better be over in five minutes, Murdock. I don't care if you're in the middle of getting your spleen cut out of you, there is no way I'm going to be able to finish $1200 worth of sweets by myself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To be fair, I think most of that was from the gold flakes and truffles. There's one that's saffron-infused pastry cream. A sensory marvel, let me tell you." There's a shuffling on the other end, which sounds like Matt is putting clothes on. There's the jingling of keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Four minutes," Foggy warns.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Months pass without incident. It's a nice reprieve. On a crisp and sunny sort of day coming back from a refreshing weekend, Foggy comes into the office to find that his desk is already occupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike turns slowly, inexorably, for the drama.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides a piece of paper between them as Foggy sets his coffee and breakfast down on his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's this?" Foggy yawns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My two week notice," he answers slyly, reaching for the muffin. Foggy bats it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So am I to understand you've found something?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have. I think you're gonna get a kick out of it, too." He takes the muffin anyways, splitting it top and bottom. He reaches out and hands Foggy the top, which always has the best chocolate chips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you say you're going to be a children's entertainer or something-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to be a social worker. At an orphanage. I thought it’d be fitting for me considering. I have absolutely no credentials here, but apparently your firm has a decent name out there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peels the paper of the muffin carefully and takes a small, pensive bite. He's smiling wide, though, and it gives the vague impression of a horse chewing hay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Foggy says, gently as he watches Mike. "Congratulations. Really. If you need help with anything at all, please for the love of God let someone know. I'd hate for anyone to have to deal with any of what you've put this firm through."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've gotten better. I swear. And I'll try for this one. Like, really try. I know I can be a lot, but I don't want to be a bad guy at the end of it all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just don't hit on anyone at work, and you'll probably be fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike smiles something halfway melancholy and heartfelt, leaning back comfortably in the chair. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for everything. Let me take you out once more before I’m out of your hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” answers Foggy after a pause. “Though I suspect you’d want to keep in contact once you’re out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, but our rendezvous will grow sparse, and I’m afraid of the spark dying out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confused laughter takes Foggy, and he realizes he hasn’t had his coffee yet. He’s still a little loopy. “What spark? Have I missed something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, if we can go on another date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Defeated, Foggy eats his muffin and pretends to consider it. “Sure, but only if you don’t call it a date. And Matt gets to come along, because he’s also your boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Mike gets up from the chair, stealing a sip of Foggy’s coffee. “Perfect. Wear the silk shirt. The one with the fish on it,” he says, and takes the rest of the muffin out the door. Foggy sits down and buckles in for a long day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reads the typed note that Mike has left. “See you later, suckers,” it reads, though it has, graciously, a braille translation just beneath the ink text.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we’re done with him after this? You don’t have to talk to him again?” Matt asks on their way to the cab. Mike had already left work a half hour early because he had given up caring about Nelson &amp; Murdock as soon as he had the job offer. That is, if one could argue that he ever cared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so adamant that I cut ties with him so severely?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy. You know why. I don’t know why you’re purposefully antagonizing me like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I literally have no idea what you're talking about, man! I get it; he's irrational and I get into antics when I'm around him. But that's, like, most of your weird friends anyway. Remember when I had to defend Luke Cage and Daniel Rand? Plenty of danger there! And Natasha? Your ex who literally used my face to get intel from a South African white supremacist? Or even Sam, who, on top of being a superhero, also happens to be a youngin and somehow got me dancing to that Fortnite thing? I don't get why his specific brand of weirdness is too much for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt frowns at him significantly before folding up his cane. He opens the door to the cab that had just stopped in front of them and doesn't wait for Foggy to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy sighs and shuffles in behind him, though Matt refuses to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your being consciously dense isn't helping this situation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you talking about?" Foggy all but yells, earning him a glare from their driver. "Sorry, could you take us to this address? We'll be quieter." He hands the woman his phone to copy the address, and leans back into his seat, though Matt's just sitting there, crossing his arms like a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Matt, I'm serious. What's wrong with me hanging out with him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's my brother. You can date literally anyone else, but he's my brother, Foggy. And we're best friends. I know I haven't known him for a long time or anything, but it feels like a betrayal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who says I'm dating him?" Foggy asks, trying to retrace their interactions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, you're not doing anything to stop him! And every time I talk to him, he's taunting me, telling me he'll get to you first-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"First? What do you mean 'first'?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know. Before I can…" he trails off. He seems to realize something. "Wait, you didn't know? Like really didn't know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Know what? Matt you're not making any </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Foggy says, but he's shut up when Matt snakes their hands together, entwining fingers and everything. "Oh."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, cards are on the table. Do you get it now?" Matt says, though he looks like he's struggling through the words. He still doesn't face Foggy, and he's fiddling with the strap of his cane with his other hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I guess I do. But since when? And how would I have known?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I," Matt chokes. "I figured you did. It's not like I kept it much a secret, and I've been told I'm not subtle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So every time you've told me you loved me, that was literal?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More or less?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my God," Foggy says, and Matt retracts his hand, folding it with his other on his lap instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought you knew."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you thought I was being a tramp on purpose. No wonder you were mad."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More or less," Matt confirms. He laughs suddenly. "I'm sorry for insulting your character."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'd better be. I can't believe you thought I'd ever date Mike. Jesus, who do you think I am?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt calms down a little, though it looks a little melancholy. "Well, he seems to think he has a chance."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He doesn't, though. First of all, he is not my type at all, and second, I'm hopelessly in love with someone else."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods, defeated. "Yeah, of course. As long as it's not Mike, I'm okay," he says, but he doesn't sound certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy makes a few calculations based on that response. "So you have no idea who it might be?" He asks, incredulous. "You can hear heartbeats and smell pheromones."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. "It's not the same. You're attracted to a lot of people on a day to day, and plenty are attracted to you. It's not the same as love. If we're talking attraction, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> attracted to Mike. Hell, you're attracted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, despite everything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stunning. Matt is a stunning individual, and Foggy’s tongue is tied because he wants to say something, but he also wants to laugh really hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sort of ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt has the wherewithal to look offended at least. His ears heat with a furious red. “There’s no reason to be mean about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All this time, you liked me, though? You’d kiss me and everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy, stop. You’re being a dick right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Matt. Go ahead, kiss me. I think we’d both get a kick out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let me kiss you,” Foggy says, softer. He reaches out for Matt’s hand, and the other man finally turns to him. “Is this okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt pouts. “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes Matt’s hand and places it on his face. “Feel how hard I’m smiling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three guesses as to why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saw a bird shitting on someone?” Matt asks, starting to smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, guess again,” he says, kissing Matt’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a dog outside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is, but I have something better today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you big wiener.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fucking wiener,” Matt challenges, sliding out of his seatbelt to inch closer to Foggy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver cuts in. “Seatbelts, please! I can’t afford another ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re having a moment here,” Matt says, jumping at her tone, then he apologizes, leaning towards the front of the car. “Listen, I’m sorry about the rules or whatever, but I’ve been waiting for this for about twenty years, so how about I promise you to offer free legal services if you let me do this thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you just put on a seatbelt and not make out in the back of this taxi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve considered it, and the verdict is no,” Matt frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seatbelts are safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been told I’m a bit of a daredevil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy snorts and the driver rolls her eyes. She pulls up to the curb and stops the car. “Well, we’re here at the destination, so it looks like that’s resolved for us, then, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re three blocks away,” Matt points out, shuffling back to his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you're not making out in my car."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Killjoy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know how many questionable stains I've had to wash out of these seats?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's frankly insulting that you'd think I would do anything like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, sir. I don't know you, and I have no clue what you are or aren't capable of."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy tugs Matt back and captures his cheek in a small peck. "Hey, let's get out of here. Mike's probably at the table and he's pretty impatient," he urges gently, paying the cabbie in an imprecise and generous wad of cash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>He's</span>
  </em>
  <span> impatient?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Only because you engineered him that way. Stop being mean to the innocent and we'll see where that gets us." He turns to the driver and gives her a curt nod. "Thank you kindly. I swear he's not like this all the time. He's just excitable."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Use protection," she says flatly as they exit her taxi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get about four steps out when Matt tugs at Foggy's sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, no. Finish what you started,” Matt says, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms menacingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna be late. Can we do this later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt huffs in exasperation and sets his cane to the ground. “You’re an awful tease. I don’t know why I tolerate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy lets out a whooping laugh and follows behind his friend, catching up in three measured steps. “It’s because I’m so handsome isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt struggles to suppress a grin and wraps an arm around Foggy, leaning on him heavily and lazily. “It’s maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>part</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk in contented silence for a few minutes, and when Foggy spots their destination, he leans into Matt and whispers in his ear. “Wanna know a secret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans in ever closer, lips barely a hair from Matt’s ear despite his super hearing. Fuck it, Foggy figures, Matt can listen to his blood pumping for all he cares. The words are important. “I kind of love you, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then you're a sucker," Matt says, smiling anyway. Foggy gives him a peck on the cheek before stepping into the restaurant, holding the door open like a gentleman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make their way to the table of a decently upscale restaurant, Foggy catching Mike’s eyes as he waves them over. The hostess lets them go, and looks panicked for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has he gotten into something already?” Foggy asks. “Because we’re not like him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s already walked into the kitchen to chat with the chef,” she says, eyeing them both. "And he's not exactly trained on food safety."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Imagine being his </span>
  <em>
    <span>twin</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Matt cuts in, a little viciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry, sir."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach the table without much incident and Foggy thanks the hostess before she heads back to her station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something's different," Mike starts before they even get to greeting each other. "Did you guys finally bone?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bone?" Foggy croaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What the hell, dude?" Matt sputters. "Can you be normal for five goddamn minutes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And can </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> not be a blaspheming sinner for five fucking minutes?" he shoots back. "I'll take that as a no on the boning, then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Firstly, we aren't going to be discussing my sex life," Matt says sternly, making vaguely threatening gestures in the air. "Secondly, you invited us here for a reason, and you've yet to tell us, so we're going to get on that right away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike sighs, waiting until both men seem comfortable. “Let’s order some food first, shall we? Matt’s paying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I most certainly am not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything you want, Foggy,” Mike finishes, finally taking off his shades and putting them in his breast pocket and waving the waiter over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike orders a bottle of the house wine for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember the winter of our first year of undergrad?” Mike asks into the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but likely different from you,” Foggy says cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles understandingly leans back in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Freshman year, You were Matt's roommate. He got accepted into Columbia, and he had had just enough time to make dad really proud. I got my acceptance to NYU three weeks later. I'm sure you remember how it all went down, a few months later when the infamous Battlin' Jack vs. Creel happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That winter, we met for the first time, by the way. Matt and I were figuring out how to do a respectable Catholic wake on negative $50k in student loans and housing costs. But you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My dad paid for everything," finishes Foggy. "I remember that part."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, because you were so kind, I was able to get a Master's of Social Work eventually. It was like that our whole lives. I was on my way to becoming respectable, but Matt was always one accolade ahead of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was walking with him on the day with the old man, too. I stood, frozen, while my twin became a tragic hero. Of course he was worshipped, and it earned me the ironic nickname 'Daredevil'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But that first holiday, when you invited me and Matt over with your family, I felt like enough for the first time in a long time. You never treated me different, but you treated me unkindly, either. I realized how warm a family could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So ever since, I’ve been thinking, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have you as family?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy stares at him for a second. “Are you going to propose to me again, because there are a few reasons why that might not be advisable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike, for his part, has the audacity to seem confused and quite taken aback. “What? No! Foggy-what? I’m so sorry, babycakes, but we’re friends! Good friends, and if we play our cards right, maybe brothers-in-law?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you proposing to him for me?” Matt cuts in, palms on the tables and brows furrowed so low that they’re hidden under his dark glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yes? I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page before I head out to San Fran. Christmas is in a few months, and I have to decide how to navigate this whole ‘visiting the family back home’ thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Foggy bursts into laughter. It’s so loud that a few people look over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” he asks while his breathing calms down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike looks between the pair and a tight look of consternation blooms over his face. “Is this out of line? All I know is how emotionally stunted my brother is, and he’s been mooning over you for months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been asking Foggy out for months! “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like hanging out with him! And I figured you wouldn’t make a move if nothing changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t meddle in these things,” Matt says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta say, normally, I wouldn’t, but I’m heading to the west coast in a week, so I had to fast track this whole plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To ask Foggy out for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when an opportunity knocks, I can’t stay to help my forty-three year old baby brother work through his Catholic repression, now can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” mutters Matt, sinking in his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I can paint a far less flattering picture of you from all those times you’ve barged into my apartment to pine over how Foggy did another sweet thing for you, or how he started using a new deodorant, or how some woman touched his hand once so now they’re bound to get married and how you missed your chance. There’s only so much a man can take, Matt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Foggy cuts in with a weak cough. “How often did you hang out to discuss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, considering I’ve been taking half his shifts as Daredevil, and how he insists on me reporting back to him every goddamn day, I’m going to say pretty often. Often enough to know that you’re the biggest tease on this side of Manhattan, Fogward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I object!” Matt cries, deflating into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Overruled,” Foggy counters, a laugh fighting to burst out of his chest. “Please, tell me exactly how I’m a tease, Michael. I wasn’t aware that’s what I was doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Mike starts with grandiose drama, “Apparently you do this thing where you move your hair back, and Matt can smell your scalp-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes. Nothing can be sexier than my new dandruff shampoo,” Foggy laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or how you unbutton your top two buttons in the middle of the day when it gets too hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how my back gets drenched in sweat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how you lick your fingers before turning pages, and he swears he can discern the texture of your tongue-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not creepy at all,” Foggy comments, turning to Matt. “Is this sorta thing what really turns you on? Because I’m starting to think all the hot people in your past has somehow been a weirdly lucky streak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s you, Fogs. You’re distracting just by existing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad you keep asking to go into business together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And me?" Matt asks, as if suddenly brave. "Do I… distract you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m a very professional lawyer, Matt. I can’t afford to be distracted,” Foggy teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt pouts in the way he does when he doesn't know he's pouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anyway,” Mike cuts in, “the offer to marry my brother still stands. It would be an honour to become a Nelson-in-law."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe eventually. I have a lot of questions for the time being."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, you can have all my furniture once I’m gone,” Mike says flatly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was going to ask you embarrassing things about Matty, but thank you." Foggy laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, where do I even start? When we were sixteen-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation wears on, and it's honestly shocking to have events in Matt's life narrated by a man who hadn't existed up until a year and a half ago. It's even stranger when the stories are confirmed by Matt himself in embarrassed groans and outraged clarification. As a best friend, it's more than enough fuel to keep Foggy sated. He smiles a wicked grin and reaches out for Matt's hand as he grows increasingly pale and mortified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it's all over and the bill is paid, Mike bounces on his feet and lingers at the restaurant's exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So this means you're going to drive me to the airport, right?" he asks, putting his shades back on despite how dark the evening has gotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy sighs fondly. "You know what? Fine. But only if you really do keep in touch. I'd hate to unleash you into a new city with no follow-up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will do, Foggaroo," Mike says, leaning forward to kiss Foggy's cheek. "I'll be seeing you later." He turns to Matt and awkwardly shakes his hand. Then, he pulls him in for an awkward hug that lasts two curt pats on the back. "Take care of him, Nerdock."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never kiss him again," Matt warns him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike lets out a laugh and starts backing away into the direction of his apartment. "Have a good one, boys," he calls out before turning away and skipping his way home. He brings the chaos with him, and the air gets calmer and quieter in his absence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That went better than expected," Matt utters before he's caught with a chaste peck on the lips, Foggy's meaty, calloused hands wrapping around his face. It's over before he can really relax into it, but he's still smiling dopily when they part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've learned a lot about you today," Foggy says. Gingerly, he guides Matt's hand to his elbow, as if  nothing had ever changed even though it feels a little like everything has. "Like how weird your kinks are."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're not that weird."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My back sweat, Matthew. How did you even hook up with Elektra? She was the hottest woman in our year and you're the weirdest dork to have ever lived."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stop it right this second, or I'm calling it quits on this whole relationship."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please. You wish you could quit me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I think I prefer this, actually," Matt says softly, leaning on Foggy a little as they walk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait til we're home at least to get frisky," he chides, but not a moment later, Matt’s humming in a satisfied way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hardly registers the clack of his cane changing into a grappling hook and then suddenly they’re airborne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They land through a thankfully open window and before Foggy can collect any thoughts, he’s being laid out on the couch. Matt laughs at whatever Foggy’s petrified body must be doing and presses a kiss to his forehead. He lets Foggy lie there, coming back after who knows how long with a warm cup of tea and some Oreos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was irresponsible of you,” Foggy says at last, sitting up to shove a cookie into his mouth and chasing it with sweet, creamy tea. “What if someone had seen you?” Matt takes the cup from him and sets it to the coffee table wickedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine. I have an alibi,” Matt shrugs as he moves to sit on Foggy’s lap. He places the package of cookies strategically at his crotch and doesn’t say anything about it as Foggy reaches for another one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve let Mike swing around while I’m out in public, and I’ve definitely been in the same room as Daredevil. He even has his own suit, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And soon San Francisco will have its very own Daredevil,” Foggy muses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he can be bothered about the crime rate over there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, it’s kind of full circle isn’t it? You made him up as a plausible alibi to pin DD on, and here you are, doing the same damn thing twenty years later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally admitting to the brilliance of the ‘secret twin brother’ ruse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matt. C’mon. Even you have to admit you’ve had better.” Foggy says, splitting an oreo in half and licking the cream. He shoves the bare cookie into Matt’s mouth and he looks dumbfounded for a glorious moment. He chews and swallows quickly, grabbing Foggy by the jaw to force then face to face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just be doing that when you know I have feelings about your tongue,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have feelings about my dry scalp, so I don’t think I’m the one being weird right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Foggy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had known you were this easy to tease, I’d have been wearing lower necklines and showing off my ankles a little more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I won’t allow it. What if people start ogling your ankles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you have a foot fetish, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only for yours. I can tell that you’ve got high arches and that you’ve finally stopped using that anti-fungal cream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy snorts at how earnest it all comes across. “Such a smooth talker. C’mon. Get off my lap for a second. Let’s talk like real adults about everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t we do that later? I’ve been harbouring plans for a while,” Matt says, though he gets up to sit beside Foggy anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, I have something very important to ask,” he says, getting onto one knee in front of his best friend. He takes Matt’s hand and places it on his chest, right over his heart. “Matty, wanna go on a date with me sometime?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The shoe drops three months later when Foggy drops the morning paper down at Matt's desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's this?" Matt asks, reaching over to feel the paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy watches as he tries to read the glossy picture before narrating. "San Francisco has its own Daredevil. They made a monument and he's posing in front of it. It's a giant bust of him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, somehow he's found a way to have an even bigger head? This is unbelievable," Matt says, picking up his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you calling him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I'm calling San Francisco City Hall. I can't let a giant head of Mike terrorize taxpayers for generations to come. It's been two months! How did this even happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy stifles a laugh. "How do you have the number to San Francisco's city hall on speed dial?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"From when you were sick," Matt explains falteringly. "I-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello. You've reached the office of-" the tired secretary starts. Matt puts her on speaker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why is there a statue of Daredevil out in public?" he demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Who is this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A concerned citizen," Matt sidesteps, "and the monument is an eyesore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a pause. "I'm sorry, but we put it up to popular vote. Did you not read the newsletters?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrunches his face in a not wholly unattractive way. "I suppose not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, 65% of voters were in favour. Actually, would you like to talk to Daredevil? We can transfer calls to him, if you'd like."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know what, yeah. Let me talk to Daredevil," Matt says. He takes off his glasses to rub at his temples. They’re put on hold for ten seconds, which Matt uses, to rub his forehead angrily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Y'ello! Daredevil speaking," Mike's voice sing-songs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Michael. You can't be answering calls from the citizenry with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>colour</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Daredevil has a reputation to uphold."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, brother-mine, they were just so excited to see 'me' back in action they sort of did that by themselves."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am! I'm working with Ayesha right now, and she's giving me the lowdown on her whole family history."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're with a client?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's six whole years old, can you imagine? Let me put her on," he says, then, muffled by distance from the speaker, "it's my brother. He's a bit uptight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello mister Mikey's brother!" The child says brightly. "Did you know your brother is a hero? Oh, wait. Secret hero," she says, with a low "shh."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hello Ayesha. It's nice to meet you. Would you mind handing me back to Mikey?" Matt says carefully. There's a rustling, then, before Mike can say anything, Matt looks ready to smash his phone against the wall. "Hey, are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Does everyone know your 'secret' identity? How many people have you told?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No one!" he lies. "Well, a few people, but only as absolutely necessary, and I have their word that they'll keep mum about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ayesha's </span>
  <em>
    <span>six</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But a very intelligent and tight-lipped six-turning-seven-in-two-weeks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you wearing right now?" Matt grits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ooh, not in front of the kid. I'm not that kinda guy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mike-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm in the civvies, don't worry. Now, I actually do have to work, so if you'd please-" Mike says, and abruptly hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What have we done, unleashing him into the world?" Matt says, looking lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy laughs at him, rounding the desk to gather him in his chest. "He sounds like he's doing fine. It's the best we could have hoped for."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is it? I thought the best we could have hoped for is him becoming some semblance of discrete."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy laughs again, stroking Matt's hair. "No, I don't think it's in his DNA."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it was gonna be short but also it's somehow 40 pages on my drive doc <a href="https://artbymintcookies.tumblr.com/"> howdy doo, buckaroo, say hi on tumblr </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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